


Blow Your House Down

by FluffyGremlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyGremlin/pseuds/FluffyGremlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek sneaking into Stiles' room late at night is nothing new.  Stiles actually being asleep <i>is</i> and his dreams are too good for Derek not to want to be a part of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blow Your House Down

Derek winces as the window creaks it's way up it's track, the sound seeming to echo through the quiet neighborhood. He glances around for a moment before slipping through the opening and landing lightly inside the dark room. His eyes flicker over the closed door and empty desk before they come to rest on the sleeping figure on the bed.

Stiles is on his stomach, one hand clenched into a tight fist near his head, his face screwed up as if he was in pain. Derek can't help the urge to soften that look, to offer comfort to someone who feels so close despite being so foreign. He reaches out, running the tips of his fingers along Stiles' taunt jaw before slipping them down, curving their hands together. It was supposed to be a quick gesture before he disappeared into the night but Stiles seems to think differently, twisting suddenly so that their fingers tangle together as the teenager mutters in his sleep.

Mutters Derek's name.

The werewolf holds his breath, listening to the steady beat of Stiles' heart as the sleeper shifts on the bed, groaning seemingly in pain as his hand tightens on Derek's. Another groan, this one sounding rougher and more drawn out and suddenly Derek understands exactly what is happening. 

Stiles is dreaming. About Derek. And all Derek can do is watch as the younger man moves on his bed, hips lifting slightly as his breathing picks up. Derek tries to pull his hand away without waking Stiles but it's useless, the tug causing Stiles to push into his mattress instead, moaning now in a way that would clue in even the most dense as to what was going on inside of his head right now.

But Derek doesn't need the moans. He can hear the way Stiles' heart speeds up, the way his want and needs scents the air, the way his blood boils hot in his veins as his fingers flex against Derek's hand. His eyes drift along Stiles' bare back to where his hips are moving slightly beneath the thin sheet.

Stiles moans again, sighing into his pillow as his hips press down seeking friction in his phantom lover. It's enough to force Derek into action, pulling his hand free and backing away slowly as Stiles rolls over, whining at the sudden loss. The back of his knees hit the desk and he stops, holding his breath as Stiles' settles back against his pillow, eyes still closed tight, flitting madly behind his eyelids.

"Derek... please..." The words break over the man like a wave, pulling him down until he can barely breathe, every part of him focusing on Stiles as the younger man's hand slides down his chest to where the sheet has twisted around his waist. Stiles whines then, head rolling from side to side as his hips push up against the tangled cotton. All Derek can do is stare as the teenager finally gets his hand under the thin sheet and pushes it down until all the older man can focus on is the hard on clearly visible beneath Stiles' pajamas.

He fists his hands, fingernails digging into his skin as Stiles moans in relief. His face is flushed with desire and Derek fights back to urge to claim the younger man for himself, give him everything his breathy moans seem to be begging for.

"Fuck," he whispers as Stiles' hand creeps under the waistband of his pants, visibly fisting around his erection. Stiles' eyelids flutter more but his own heart is roaring so loudly that Derek can't hear anything other than it blending with the soft noises slipping past Stiles' lips as he begins to jerk himself off.

"Please," Stiles moans again and it's enough to propel Derek forward a step, one hand reaching out as if to touch. "God... Derek... fuck..." Stiles grunts then, hips pushing up into the circle of his own fingers and all Derek wants now is to _see_. He takes another step towards the bed, his own cock filling and pressing against the zipper of his dark jeans.

He stops when he feels the bed pressing against his shins, his hand stretched out, fingers flexing over Stiles' hips as they rotate in the darkness. Any common sense he may have had as a man is pushed aside by a pure animalistic instinct to touch and fuck and claim. It takes everything he has to pull his hand back as Stiles' own hand speeds up just beneath it.

"No."

One word. Quick. Low. It makes Derek's blood run cold as he lifts his eyes to meet Stiles'. The teenager is staring at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Stiles..." Derek goes to take a step back only to have Stiles' hand wrap around his wrist, sweaty and warm and pulling Derek closer.

"Please," Stiles says again and this time his eyes are locked on Derek's as his hips lift again, an invitation, slight and quiet in execution. Derek doesn't say a word as he kneels up on the bed, Stiles' hand still holding his arm as he steadies himself over the boy. Stiles' dark eyes slide closed as Derek reaches out and lightly runs his hand down the teen's chest, running along the waistband of his pajamas until they meet the arm that is still thrust down them.

Derek holds Stiles' gaze as he slips his hand down beside the other man's, forcing his pants down as he did so until Stiles' cock was out, red and hot in the moonlight. The older man covers Stiles' hand with his own, threading their fingers together and tightening them slightly, causing the teenager to groan and shift beneath him.

"Fuck, come on," Stiles whines, trying to force Derek to move more. The wolf inside him fights back, causing him to tighten his hold even more until the boy whimpers beneath him and loosens his own grip on Derek's wrist so that he can fist his hand in the sheet beneath him. Derek's hand is still wrapped on top of Stiles as he moves it slowly up his cock, teasing the head slightly with his thumb before stroking down again, reveling in the way Stiles shudders beneath him. The teenager arches his back, his neck lengthening as he tries to get more contact, more Derek.

"What were you dreaming about?" Derek asks in a low voice, letting Stiles' hand slide off his cock so that he has full control, stroking long and slow.

"You," Stiles responds in a shaky voice, eyes still locked on Derek's. It's the shortest answer Derek's ever heard the boy give and as much as he would usually revel in the silence, now he wants noise. He wants Stiles babbling and begging.

"Not good enough," Derek says, twisting his wrist slightly at the base of Stiles' cock, causing the boy to bite on his own hand to stifle his cries.

"You," the teenager says again. "You... pinning me against the door..." Derek's eyes glaze over and his hand speeds up as Stiles continues. "Forcing me to my knees..." Stiles clenches his jaw, obviously trying to fight the urge to thrust up into the circle of Derek's fingers. The fact that he's so eager and yet so submissive makes Derek growl in pleasure, the sound reverberating low in his chest and making the other man moan in response.

"Your hands in my hair... your cock..." Derek feels the way Stiles' own erection throbs as he slips back into his own fantasy. He straightens up slightly, leaning back on his knees enough to be able to loosen the button on his jeans without letting go of the teenager whimpering beneath him on the bed.

"My cock in your mouth?" Derek provides as he slides down the zipper of his jeans at the same time his hand slides down the length of Stiles' cock.

"Yes," Stiles hisses. Derek groans in relief as he finally frees himself, wrapping his free hand around his own cock. He leans in again, slipping easily between Stiles' knees until he can line their cocks up. Stiles curses at him then, pushing up and pulling back and clenching his eyes closed as Derek wraps his long fingers around both of their erections, sweat and precum easing the way they slide together.

Stiles reaches up and his short nails scratch down Derek's arm, a flash of blunted pain that makes the werewolf buck against the younger man. Derek rests his weight on his free hand and thrusts into Stiles, his hips snapping forward in a way that leaves Stiles begging for more. The brunet is sure his jeans have to be digging into the teenager, button and zipper and seams leaving marks that will show in the light of day. That thought is enough to make him want to move harder, to bruise deeper, to make the marks last longer.

 _Permanently_.

He growls again, leaning forward more as Stiles gets louder beneath him, babbling and begging and cursing Derek as his fingers scramble along the older man's back and twist in his shirt. He tightens his grip where they're joined ever so slightly but it's enough to set the teenager off, warmth pouring out and spreading between hand and cocks and stomachs. Derek thrusts harder, using Stiles' come and pliant body until he's gritting his teeth through his own release.

He doesn't bother moving off of Stiles, instead shifting his hand away from their spent cocks to better hold his weight as he fights to catch his breath. Stiles' chest moves against him, fluttering exhales tickling his cheek as Derek noses at the younger man's jaw.

"Best. Wakeup. Ever." Stiles says. Derek can feel the other man grinning as he presses a kiss to the bolt of his jaw, opening his lips slightly so that his teeth ghost over the area before he pulls back and sits up. Surveying the mess, he catches Stiles' eyes and finds the teenager biting his lip again, flushed cheeks and bright eyes flickering as his heart flutters beneath Derek's palm.

"I shouldn't have done that," Derek says slowly. Stiles' eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to protest only to have Derek continue on. "But next time we should probably get undressed first."

"Next..." Stiles pauses for a second before scrunching up his nose. "I was already most of the way there," he says instead, gesturing at his naked chest. "You're Mr. Impatient Wolf. All huff and puff and here, little piggy, let me hump you in the middle of the night. Did you realize that jeans are rather chaf..."

Derek bites down on Stiles' bottom lip as he kisses him, leaving one last mark behind before pushing away and pulling off his own t-shirt to clean them both. He tosses it aside, watching Stiles' as his eyes track its flight across the room.

"I'm not your laundry lady," Stiles says loudly as Derek pulls a clean shirt from a drawer and pulls it over his head, twisting his shoulders slightly to stretch the tight materiel.

"I'll bring it back tomorrow night." Derek rests on the sill of Stiles' window for a moment watching the teenager process that comment. Once he sees his words click into place, he swings his legs out into the night, turning back one last time to catch Stiles' eyes before dropping out of sight.

"I'm still not washing yours," Derek hears Stiles mutter. He chuckles to himself before hopping the back fence and disappearing into the darkness.


End file.
